Dying to Live
by Snugglebunnies
Summary: Everyone says that after the end of the world happened, that everything changed. That people became cruel and justice no longer mattered. It became about survival. But really...it hasn't changed at all. Possibly a very eventual DarylxOC Chap. 6 is up!
1. Chapter O1: Hell in a Handbasket

My first Walking Dead fanfic. In all honesty, I'm not sure whether I like it or not. None of the characters have shown up yet but I'm working on setting the groundwork for Emma and the whole zombie apocalypse thing. Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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It was amazing how fast the world had gone to hell. I had expected for the human race to hold out a longer than a week - alas humankind's overwhelming stupidity had metaphorically [and somewhat literally] blown any hope of that right up. I anticipated that my 'End of Days' went similarly to everyone else's - you know, undead civilians chomping down on the living and all that jazz. Actually, I speculated that if the Apocalypse had ever happened [which it did], I would be one of the first to go [which, surprisingly, she wasn't]. It seemed now that the world had gone screwy, math no longer mattered. But, presumptions aside, I should start at the beginning of things. Back when the world was not so overtaken by zombies and I was your run of the mill vagrant.

**Monday -  
5 days after the first Walker sighting; 2 days before the first emergency broadcast**

Car horns blared, a release of pent-up frustration from the drivers trapped within the congestion of morning traffic. Several foul curses escaped from random vehicles in the jam. The bustling of the streets, a blur of strangers going about their day. One speaking hurriedly into a phone, maybe to a paranoid but beloved family member. Another, a woman, texting on her cell with a rather unpleasant and upset expression, possibly an argument with a husband or lover.

A slight crazed haze had settled over Atlanta, although many did not seem to notice it. Some probably believed it was due to the eerie rumors regarding the undead that had been circulating around the city. The dead were coming back to life, that's what they would whisper, the dead were eating the living.

This gossip certainly managed to stir the Apocalyptic shit-pot and every end-of-the-world lunatic had increased their maddening rants, tenfold. Now the maniacs were shouting their predictions and warnings from every street corner. It didn't help that even the politicians and 'big guns' were beginning to show their concern.

Naturally, none of this affected a certain hobo. Well, none of it except the racket that the possible apocalypse caused.

Emma exhaled sharply in growing agitation, turning restlessly in her makeshift box-house. The box was temporary, of course - she had her eye on an abandoned building a few blocks away. It even had a nice view and an actual roof. As the noise became too much to stand, Emma brought herself into a sitting position. Nervous fingers ran through filthy, tangled hair, pausing briefly to tear at the roots.

Disentangling herself from her sole patchwork blanket, Emma vaguely thought about what she would give for a shower. The smell was really starting to get to her, but the other vagrants occupying the alleyway with her assured her that she would eventually get used to it. She was very doubtful of that.

Crawling from the depths of her box, Emma squinted her eyes. Spotting one of the other residents of the alleyway, she waved her good morning. It was an older man, whose eyes wrinkled at the edges from smiling too much. His name was Roger Wells, former mechanic. He was always very...optimistic about things.

"Mornin' Em." He greeted pleasantly, his voice somewhat gravely. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, till those idiots started making a racket." She grumbled back, gesturing with her thumb to the car-packed roads. "Couldn't sleep a wink after." He nodded his agreement.

Roger briefly appeared to be considering something before sighing. "We're going to be moving today."

Emma frowned, studying the man with incredulous eyes. "You're kidding, right?"

"One of the others scouted an empty warehouse - plenty of space for our increasing numbers." Roger explained, keeping his composure to prevent Emma from reacting to the news badly. He looked resolved on the matter.

"So, that's a no. You're serious." Emma huffed, running her hand through her hair again.

"You said you'd be leaving soon." Roger attempted to justify his plan, he didn't wish to leave on bad terms with her.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." She cast her gaze away from him, suddenly becoming very interested in the Coca Cola can sitting atop the nearby dumpster. She realized that she had been in denial this whole time - completely forgetting the fact that on her first day, she swore that this was temporary. Emma smirked, feeling fairly bitter but looked back at Roger with a relenting smile. "Suppose you'll be taking the food too?"

"Sorry, Em. You're going to have to dumpster dive by yourself." The man chuckled, somewhat somber as he watched Emma struggle to say a good farewell. She never had been one for goodbyes.

"Rats." Emma laughed, grinning up at the man. Her face fell at Roger's next words.

"Be safe. No knowing what the 'end of the world' lunatics will be up to with all this undead nonsense going 'round." He cautioned, placing a beefy hand on her shoulder.

"Roger that." She nodded, smirking at the pun. In truth, she disregarded his warning all together - she viewed the whole zombie rumor as ridiculous. Zombies were impractical and she had enough on her plate without pointlessly worrying about the _possibly_.

"Roger, Em! Breakfast is ready!" One of the other hobos, a woman with mousy brown hair and squinty eyes, shouted to them.

**Sunday -  
4 days after the Emergency Broadcasts begin; 2 days before Military falls**

Shit was happening. The undead wandering the streets had become a common sight on the streets - for those of us that were still living, at least. Homes had been left, their occupants fleeing to find scattered family members or to fill the refugee center. The city was now occupied by hundreds of soldiers, the streets by tanks and barricades.

Emma watched as a wave of zombies shuffled towards the barricades from the window of her new residence. She had managed to move into the abandoned building before all hell began breaking loose, but, despite the sanctity of the empty place - she took precautions. Installing more locks on the doors or boarding up the ones she couldn't find locks for. Anything she scavenged was hidden beneath the floorboards, in case any other, more violent homeless people invaded her sanctuary.

Despite her all together nonchalance regarding the end of the world, Emma was worried. She hadn't seen Roger since he had moved with the group. The thought of him becoming one of those _things _disgusted her.

Her brow was furrowed as she pushed herself away from the window, decisions to be made rolling around in her head. Roger could've gone to the center, in that case, she should stop fretting. But the chance of Roger still holed up in that old warehouse was what kept her up at night.

Grabbing the crowbar that had become her companion since her days on the streets, Emma headed for the door. She didn't bother to pack anything else, seeing as she planned on coming back as soon as she found Roger - dead or alive. Emma glanced back at the empty room, sighing as she closed the door.

_This is what gets you into trouble_, Emma mentally scolded herself. For her, becoming attached to people only caused her problems.

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	2. Chapter O2: Lost and Found

I'm actually surprised I was able to update this fast [this is fast for me -.-' sorry] but oh well. Canon Characters will be introduced in the next chapter for sure. I just had to finish getting my characters introduced and let you guys get a feel for them. Thank yous and review responses will be at the end of this chapter. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Emma and Roger.**

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**Sunday**

The world outside Emma's building was in shambles. There was a frightening lack of cars, of people. Of life. The angry honking of horns had been replaced with the alarming sounds of explosions and gunfire. Frightened shouts substituted the hurried phone conversations, whispered 'I love yous' had been exchanged for terrified screams. But it was the lack of noise that scared Emma, the empty, quiet moments between ear-shattering explosions. It was the silence that really got under her skin.

Emma's grip on the crowbar tightened as she slunk through the shadows of the alley adjacent to her building. She was trying to prepare herself for every possibility, attempting to plan ahead. What would she do if a zombie attacked her? What would happen if the soldiers thought she was one of the undead? Would she be able to bash Roger's head in if he was one of those things?

It all made her head hurt. Emma did manage to settle one thing - she would do what she needed to survive. The thought comforted her. Surviving was normal for her, she had been doing it for years. With that in mind, Emma clung to the side of the buildings, walking low to the ground and trying not to make too much noise.

She vaguely remembered Roger telling her where the warehouse was. Oh how Emma wished that she had bothered to pay attention to him, but she honestly didn't believe she'd see him again. If her memory served, it was several blocks away - tucked behind an old hotel and auto-repair shop.

They were everywhere, the undead. Hobbling aimlessly in the streets, their eyes glassy as their rotten heads turning lazily to search for lunch. Some were decided in their movements, chasing after the dwindling amount of soldiers. Others slowly began to notice her presence, much to Emma's misfortune.

Eyes darting around like a crazed animal, Emma scrunched her nose at the smell clouding around the decaying dead, both dead dead and undead. It was amazing that they were able to smell anything over their own overwhelming stench. She spotted quite a few soldiers littered among the scattering of zombies. It seemed that they had underestimated the dead, allowed themselves to be blindsided. There were even several abandoned tanks on the streets as she crept further towards her destination.

She hadn't had to kill anything yet and upon that realization, she was unsure that she was capable. Emma shook her head, ridding herself of the weak thought. Those things weren't people anymore. She hadn't even liked people before the apocalypse happened, so she should just view this as a sort of...therapy.

The auto-repair shop, Bob's Repairs, was on the horizon, well within Emma's sight. She felt her muscles relax as she approached, a bated breath released. Scurrying across the expanse of the road, avoiding any zombies while she was at it, her eyes landed on the warehouse - a rickety old thing that she wouldn't go into without good reason. There was a fifty percent chance of Roger being in there though and goddammit, she was not turning back now. She'd risked her ass to many times already.

Emma rubbed her neck, sizing up the building before her. If Roger's group had turned, then she was screwed - that warehouse could house dozens of those things and most likely didn't offer much means of cover or escape. However, if no one was in there, she'd put herself in jeopardy for no reason. Emma thought she preferred the latter event, even if she would be disappointed. _At least disappointment is better than that crappy excuse for an afterlife_, Emma thought.

"Ah, to hell with this." She hissed under her breath, shoving the hefty doors of the warehouse open. She could deal with whatever was through the door, Emma assured herself with a shaky breath.

A massacre had happened within the depot. Mutilated corpses dotted the floor, all having evidence of being turned or turned into a meal. Red liquid pooled in the potholes and slopes in the concrete flooring. A man dangled from a bolted down shelf, choosing to 'opt out' rather than deal with the ruining world. Another, what appeared to have been a woman, was slouched against the far wall, gun sitting next to her remains.

Okay, she couldn't deal. Emma blanched, gaping at the vast room before her. Trying desperately to keep this morning's breakfast in her stomach and out of her gullet, she began to tiptoe through the storehouse. She noticed one thing that remained consistent about the lifeless bodies - all of their heads were busted in. That fact gave Emma a bit of hope concerning Roger's wellbeing.

"...Hello...?" She whispered, heading towards the back of the building. Scanning the area, Emma's eyes landed a door on the eastern wall. She scrunched her nose in distaste, not liking her chances for opening another door and coming back in one piece. Emma owed that blasted man a debt though, so forward she shuffled.

"I wouldn't open that if I were you." A familiar gravelly voice sounded from behind a stack of crates. _Speak of the devil_, Emma thought, a wide grin stretching across her face.

"Nice to see you again, Roger." She said, relief filling her words.

The man hobbled from his hiding place. He was half the man that Emma remembered. Eyes that once glimmered with the light of hope had been frozen over by the cruel chill of despair. A mouth that once stretched with wide smiles seemed to have puckered and turned down overnight. The man before here was no longer her protector, a beloved member of her makeshift family. He was a broken man, hardened by the sudden destruction of the modern world.

Despite her observations, Emma had expected a warm reunion, one that made the harsh world that surrounded them become less intimidating. Yet, the man before her did not move to embrace her. He did not smile, he did not respond more than a simple bob of the head.

Emma sobered, Roger's grave appearance causing the relief to leave her being.

"Do you need a safe place to stay, Roger?" She inquired, staring at the man with a hard gaze. Emma had slowly begun to traipse back through the small sea of bodies, glancing over her shoulder at Roger to see his response.

"Shouldn't you be asking if I had been bitten?" Roger replied, but made no move to decline her offer as he followed the girl through the remains.

"I figured you weren't." Emma said, reaching the doors. "Seeing as they're all dead and you aren't trying to bite my head off or cowering in a corner with a fever."

Her eyes no longer exhibited the childish excitement from when she had first seen Roger. The fire that once burned within the girl had dimmed, the loss of Roger, her Roger. This_ imposter_ with the same face, the same voice was not _her_ Roger - he was a ghost, a footprint on the sand.

As Emma pushed the warehouse doors open once again she felt grief. She had found Roger, but he was as dead to her as the corpses that walked the streets.

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So! Emma finds Roger but he's very different from the beginning of the story :) I actually had planned to not have him live past the first chapter, but I decided against it.

Thanks for the alerts, favorites and reviews! Glad at least some people like this story :)

**To LadiiBabiiRocRoyalty9:** Thank you so much for reviewing! I was very excited when I saw it :D I'm happy that you enjoyed my story and hope that this chapter is also to your liking!

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	3. Chapter O3: Fleshy Things

It's ridiculous how long this chapter is. I actually planned to cut it in half but since I promised last chapter that the cast would be making an appearance, you get an extra long chapter! Review responses will be at the end of the chapter but I just want to say THANK YOU! I really appreciated the reviews, favorites and alerts and I'm very happy that you guys like the story :)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. **

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**Tuesday -**

**Military falls; 2 days before emergency broadcasts stop**

They were going to fucking blow Atlanta to smithereens. Emma's teeth met, grinding together as her jaw clenched. Leave it to the damn human race to throw a tantrum when the world went to Hell and they couldn't do anything about it. She stumbled over herself in her haphazard attempt to quickly and efficiently pack a large room into several small bags. Emma began to gnawing on her lip, an upwelling of emotions chasing away any grip she had on coherent thought.

Studying the overstuffed packs lined up before her, Emma shook her head in frustration. Running nervous fingers through greasy black hair, she vaguely wondered how her single, light satchel had gone to five large backpacks. The answer was obvious, as Roger had insisted on raiding the local buildings for anything of worth. It simply seemed like a lot to her. She was fine with her crowbar, nail gun [which, to Roger's credit, had been found on their third night of scavenging] and food. Albeit, much of the room within the packs was occupied by food.

"Roger, I think I'm doing something wrong." Emma called to the older man, who was currently sifting through the disordered room in search of any forgotten items.

"Why?" His tone was neutral, but the slight, agitated cock of his eyebrow revealed the hint of annoyance. He didn't have time for this nonsense. They both were going to be dead if she didn't hurry up and that was Roger's only concern.

"Every time I repack, the number of bags increases!" She growled, struggling to shove more items into an already overstuffed pack. A cold sweat had created a sickly layer on the girl's skin, evidence of her anxiety regarding the possibility of exploding. The army of Walkers moving in masses in the streets outside didn't help either.

"We can redo everything later!" Roger explained, exasperated. "Just make sure to get everything into those bags, ok?" He attempted to soften his words with a question. Roger wanted to avoid further distracting Emma from her job or riling the young girl up by insulting her.

"Yeah, ok." Emma nodded, her eyes once again focusing on the task in front of her. Of course, the hobo's mind was elsewhere. Thinking about Roger, who had undergone a massive change from the kind father figure to a natural-born, hardened survivalist, and how in the apocalyptic world they could make it out of the city alive. The number of walkers had doubled since their last supply run, two days ago, and they had begun to move in hordes. Emma understood that her chances of survival were higher with the man around, but there was a sort of unspoken agreement between them. Survival was key in this 'new' world and if one was dragging the other down, they would be left behind.

The fact that his presence was temporary was also exceedingly evident, yet the subject remained untouched. Neither wanted to cause the already palpable tension to grow, not when the threat of bombs was dangling above their heads. Not when they could die by simply walking out the front doors.

"Done." Emma's words breached the silence, Roger bobbed his head in acknowledgement. They both knew what was coming next - a mad dash for their lives that involved way too heavy bags and very hungry zombies.

Grabbing as many bags as they could carry [which was all of them, after some shifting around and redistributing], the pair of beggars headed for the door to the now bare room. Emma felt a tugging in her gut as they shuffled down the hallway of what used to be an apartment complex. She felt a slight sadness about leaving what had been her residence for the past week - it was the closest thing she had to a 'home' since her life as a vagabond began. However, Roger had been the closest thing to family, which had changed, so Emma resolved that she would eventually get over the separation.

"Make sure you're ready to run." Roger informed as they approached the double doors leading outside. Emma didn't bother to look at him, instead simply gave a curt nod. "We need to get in the car quickly, or-"

"I get it, Roger." The girl interrupted, studying the building's entrance with a hard gaze. "Let's get this over with already." Emma refused to glance his way. She did not want the man's mild concern to give her hope of the old Roger nor did she want to see the anxious frown on his face. _This is a short-term arrangement_, she affirmed, _don't get attached to him again_.

Readjusting the strap driving its way into her shoulder, Emma opened the door at a snail's pace. The hinges had a tendency to squeal, a feature that she had come to love, but when the monsters outside were drawn to sound, it wasn't the best thing ever.

It was amazing how one street could change in a matter of days. Yes, Emma had seen how horrible the roads had looked only a few days prior, but it didn't cushion this particular blow.

Corpses garbed in military uniforms were draped across tanks and barricades, unmoving and surprisingly lifeless. The walkers had begun to decompose even further. Many of the faces, men and women alike, no longer owned a full set of lips or a nose that lacked holes. Even the clothing, which Emma suspected were once complete garments, had degraded themselves and become considerably indecent. Incomprehensible noises escaped the backs of the walkers' throats, causing the undead to sound more beast than human. And the smell managed to overpower her own never-showering, dumpster-diving stench.

The pair traveled towards the waiting car, an old, dented thing of a automobile, as quietly as possible. Both were aware of the fact that the walkers stumbling before them were attracted by smell and sight as well, but why make things worse with sound?

Decaying heads twitched towards Roger and Emma, milky eyes staring at them with hunger. Time was limited now. It would only be moments before a horde of those things began to hunt them. Emma heard the engine of their getaway vehicle sputter to life as she tossed her bags into the backseat. Slamming the door shut, she hurried for the passenger seat door and reached for it.

The next series of events played out in slow motion for Emma. It seemed as if only a heartbeat managed to pass as Roger looked at her with a calloused, instinct-driven yet repentant expression and floored the gas pedal. For a millionth of a second, Emma felt as if she could feel every emotion that a human was capable of and then, she experienced nothing at all. Emma blinked, temporarily filling the void inside her by assessing the situation - which appeared to have a very low survival rate for. One living, breathing, fleshy human against hundreds of dead, decomposing, flesh-_eating_ and ravenous zombies? Not a chance.

So, like any semi-intelligent person would do, Emma ran like hell.

Emma had never been the most athletic of people but she finds that with enough...incentive, sprinting for extended periods of time becomes very possible. However, no amount of motivation could conquer a human's exhaustion.

Breaths escaped from Emma in airy excuses for exhales and inhales were hurried, desperate gasps for much needed oxygen. Each quick, sloppy footstep was a bone-splintering, pounding thing that gradually became more and more of an effort with every step she made. The fatigue even began to twist time, seconds becoming minutes and minutes hours. During her insane race for some amount of safety, Emma scouted no means of a clean getaway. There were no back alleys that owned fire escapes, nor once fancy building with sturdy doors to hide behind.

The mass of zombies trailing behind her were steadily managing to close the distance between them. Emma made the decision that a backup getaway plan would be wise, because she wouldn't be able to run forever and the walkers were. Black began to consume the edges of her vision as the girl's eyes landed on an old motorcycle - a worn vintage_ Triumph_. Both pleasing to the eye and incredibly easy to pinch.

Grinning like a love-struck schoolgirl [and somehow forgetting about the flock of zombies behind her], Emma lengthened her strides and hurried to the motorbike. A few hazy memories of Roger schooling her on the wonders of automobile repair and scolding her when she hijacked a car crept into her mind, causing Emma to grind her teeth. Frustrated breath released, she reached for the screwdriver in her satchel [the one thing that Roger didn't take with him, thank God].

The wave of walkers was moments away from reaching her and Emma realized that if this didn't work, she was dead - then undead and blown up. Crudely smashing the head of the screwdriver into the ignition, Emma let out a held breath and smirked in triumph. Without the police to arrest her over her immoral conduct, her Machiavellian behavior became much more handy - and sort of legal.

Torn from her thoughts of overconfident self-praise by the gurgling of hundreds of walkers, the street urchin held in a shout when a decaying hand brushed her shoulder. Emma, briefly freezing out of sheer terror, swung her beloved crowbar and didn't stop until she heard the nauseating sound of metal ripping through flesh and breaking bones. White as a sheet, she once again comprehended just how much danger she was in.

Revving the engine, a glorious sound to the girl who hadn't driven any sort of vehicle in far too long, Emma backed out from the parking space in front of the uptown bar. Whipping the bike around as quickly as she could, Emma twisted the throttle, desperate to get out of the damned city of Atlanta.

After the congregation of zombies disappeared from behind her, Emma felt the pressure on her chest lift. Her heartbeat slowed and her breathing evened - sure, she wasn't completely out of the city yet but she almost was and that was enough. Emma checked the fuel gauge, discovering a good amount of gasoline left in the tank. Which means she could get a good ways away from the city around her.

Now that her physical being was out of immediate danger, there was room for everything else - something Emma was not very happy about. It meant that she had to think about what Roger did. It meant that she'd have to come to terms with the fact that he left her and screwed her over at the same time. It meant that she was going to have to fully face the fact that Roger was no longer Roger, something which she believed she had settled when they first found each other. Roger had been her comfort zone before all hell broke loose and she had fallen back into that pattern far too easily. There was strength in numbers but there was also a possible downfall.

People will, without difficulty, sacrifice others for their own survival. It's human nature and Emma realized she needed to reaffirm that outlook on life or else she was going to get screwed over again. This world, even before the apocalypse, left little room for mistakes or lapses in judgment.

With that thought, there was also whether or not she would join up with other survivors. The pros with being with others were numerous and, as long as she refrained from getting attached, it would benefit her to be with other people. They could provide food and shelter and human interaction [even though Emma was far from fond of people, she thought interaction was a good way to keep her sanity] while she could give protection and make repairs.

_I mean, I don't really have many other options_, Emma rationalized as she weaved her way through the congestion of cars. _Roger took the food and the shelter. And the few guns we found._ She actually wasn't particularly upset about the guns - she didn't like the things anyway and she had her nail gun, which wasn't technically a gun but was still very effective.

She had taken to driving off-road, as the streets were packed with the cars of fleeing citizens. Emma vaguely wondered if any had made it out safely. As she officially made it out of the reaches of the city, she spotted movement on a car-packed hill not too far up the road. Deciding that those people would have to do [for now, at least], Emma twisted the throttle and urged the motorbike to accelerate. She was almost there by the time they were beginning to load themselves into their respective cars. So, more desperately than she would have liked, she shouted.

Her hollering, however, was overshadowed by a violent eruption of sound from the city. Three fighter jets zoomed overhead, once they finished dropping the explosives they disappeared over the horizon like a flock of geese. Emma slowed, drifting up to the crowd of now crying people with renewed hesitance. She swallowed, thinking back to the last time she had a normal conversation with someone who didn't live on the streets. Shaking her head, Emma comforted herself and hardened her resolve.

"...Hey, got room for one more?"

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Whew - told you it was long. Just a question, but do you guys like more frequent, shorter chapters or fewer longer ones? I always like to hear you guys' opinions of the story, since it helps my and writing improve :) Thanks for reading!

** LadiiBabiiRocRoyalty990:** Woot! I have a regular reviewer! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter as well and I hope you enjoyed this one! :D It makes me happy when people enjoy my writing so I very much look forward to your reviews after every chapter.

** BuryMyHeartLove:** Thanks for the review :) I'm delighted to hear that you like Emma. I always worry about whether or not people like my original characters, so it was nice to hear that. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

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	4. Chapter O4: Nailbiting Anticipation

Hello again! Apologies for the wait - I have traveled way too much in the past two weeks and I also had family visiting. But whatever, back to more important matters! THANK YOU for all the reviews, favorites and alerts! It was great to get feedback and it definitely helped me finish this chapter :)

Please enjoy!

**Disclaimer: Own The Walking Dead, I do not. Beware of plentiful cussing.**

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**Still fucking Tuesday**

_"...Hey, got room for one more?"_

For a brief moment, a serene silence fell across the gathering of frayed survivors. Both parties studied each other with vacant, yet worn expressions in that split second, some more than others. The men appeared wary, brows drawn together and eyes watching every movement the homeless girl made - this was something she could handle. Not many people trusted a sweat-covered, grubby girl on an obviously stolen motorbike. However, the pity and evident distress of the woman [and one particular old man, strangely enough] was something extremely foreign to Emma. And unfamiliar things were bad things in her mind.

"Look, I just busted my ass to get out of Atlanta - which is a place that you should try to avoid - and I need a place to crash. And I'd rather that not be anywhere near that damned city." Emma attempted to make her overwhelming discomfort in the situation less noticeable and in the process made a bitch out of herself. Her tone sounded disrespectful and overly nonchalant, even to her. "So can I join up with you guys? Erm...please?" She cringed at her effort to soften herself as her pride took a hard blow. Groveling was _so_ not her style.

A response was not given and Emma floundered, averting her eyes seeming to prefer to study a tree rather than witness the effects of her own awkward endeavor at conversation. The tree had very interesting bark and strangely pointed leaves- Emma sighed. _This is pathetic. You're pathetic,_ She growled internally, struggling to keep down the swelling panic. Her plans would once again need to change if these people rejected her and her options were dwindling. "I'm pretty savvy with cars and...stuff. I-...I'll pull my own weight, I swear. And it'll only be temporary." Ah, fuck. There was that word again. Emma grinded her teeth, bitterly recalling the last time she had used that particular word. She was disgusted over how desperate and pitiable she sounded.

Heartbeats, loud, pounding things in the ears, passed and the gathering of people before her shared what could only be defined as 'meaningful' looks with one another. A darker haired man, who appeared to have taken the role of leader within the patchwork group, scanned the crowd for responses. A woman with lengthy black-brown, wide eyes teary and red with the recent explosion, gave a quick bob of the head. Her hands were placed on a young boy's shoulders in a near death grip - Emma wrote it off as a loving and protective gesture. Leader-man's eyes then swept to a graying man and two blonde women, which Emma suspected were sisters by the way they naturally gravitated toward each other. The white-haired man gave a decisive nod, the sisters seemed to lump their opinion together with his. The last was a rather oversized family, who had managed to keep all the members alive during this damned apocalypse. They seemed shaken, yet somewhat indifferent on the matter of Emma.

Emma was sure to take note of whose opinion he skipped over. A pair of what looked like brothers [which was odd, seeing the difference of their demeanors] from the boonies, a small family of three that consisted of a fragile-looking older woman, a little girl and a potbellied, sadistic-looking man and a jittery, restless Asian boy with a baseball cap. It seemed as if the tension was higher between the rednecks, the round-faced man and the man who had taken the position as leader. Emma wasn't aware why the man had skipped the Asian boy, though she assumed it was because he was younger and they had not known each other for long.

With baited breath, Emma waited for the group to voice their verdict. The inside of her cheek was mincemeat by now and the muscles in her jaw were cramped from clenching too long. She realized just how lucky she had been that Roger had found her and introduced her to his cluster of people, if only because she didn't have to face this kind of uncertainty. Emma still refused to forgive the bastard, though and swearing that she would clobber him if she ever saw the son of a bitch again.

"Alright, missy. I'm Shane Walsh." The dark-haired man, Shane, apparently, spoke and Emma released a held breath. Quietly, of course - no need to show these people any exploitable weakness.

"Lori Grimes. This is my son, Carl." The woman next to Shane said, a small smile on her face. The boy, Carl, gave a little wave and a soft 'hi'.

Introductions were just as awkward as they were before the end of the world happened, which was a strangely comforting thought to the entirety of the hodgepodge of people. The hick brothers were Merle and Daryl Dixon, who Emma made a mental note to steer clear of. The large Hispanic family was headed by Morales and Miranda Morales, with a bunch of other family members Emma did not care to remember. The fragile woman's name was Carol, her husband was Ed [who had already been deemed 'Creep' in Emma's mind] and their daughter, Sophia. The old man was Dale and the blondes were Andrea, the elder sister, and Amy, the younger and the finicky Asian with the ball cap was Glenn.

"Emma." The homeless girl said, a crooked, lopsided thing of a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "Emma Calder. Nice to meet everyone."

**Thursday -  
World's Status: Gone to Shit**

There was a definite lack of breathing space within the encampment at the quarry and a surplus of rules. Shane had placed far too many regulations on the camp since settling here. Some protested that they were ridiculous, others allowed for the domination, content with quietly voicing their complaints in the everyday, casual gossip. No one [sane, that is. Merle occasionally spoke out - he was most likely high, however] dared to speak out to him directly, of course - the man was rightly intimidating. Shane had apparently been a deputy before the undead took to the land and been through some serious training.

Emma was, however, not that surprised that once she had gotten to know that man, she wouldn't like him. She never had been on good terms with the police - she had far too many memories of long nights in crowded prison cells and having her rights recited to her while being handcuffed. She also had a sneaking suspicion that the man was more batshit crazy [not the good kind, either] than Merle - and the latter was high as hell half the time.

Emma had kept her distance, which wasn't too hard considering the whole of the group had several distinct sub-groups. Many of the relationships, she found, were still being formed and were slightly shallow when properly studied. She had taken a liking to Dale and Glenn though, despite the old man's tendency to speak about bad things at even worse times and Glenn's obvious oddities. But it was plainly apparent, however, that the group had 'cracks in its foundation', as it were. And not to mention the startling level of sexism which had become a somewhat commonplace occurrence.

The hobo was well aware that many a person in the group did not trust her. Although the feeling was quite mutual, Emma was a tad bit miffed at both the avoidance and the out-of-loop-ness that she was experiencing. Was she seriously that scary or dishonest looking? Sure, she had come riding out of the city on a motorbike just before it blew up with zombie guts painting her limbs but that was no excuse.

"Emma, would you mind helping with laundry?" Lori asked, propping a plastic container packed with dirty clothing on her slender hips.

A heavy sigh escaped Emma. Was this what she had to look forward to? Days filled with laundry and empty, overlooked opinions? Despite the depression that was a stormy cloud in her mind, Emma pushed herself up from her place on stump and away from her suffocating thoughts.

_Laundry and oppressive sexism, Emma. Welcome to your new life._ She thought sarcastically, joining Lori and grabbing her own basket of soiled clothes. It was going to be a long apocalypse.

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Sorry for all the cussing and lack of dialogue. The story will get less narrative in the next chapter. I just didn't want a bunch of 'Nice to meet yous' in one chapter. I also have trouble writing some characters, so bare with me if any out of character characters pop up and please tell me if they do! I love hearing you guys' opinions!

** LadiiBabiiRocRoyalty990** - :D I'm so happy that you like my stories that much! I can totally related though, some stories I just don't want to end! Yeah, Roger is kind of a jerk but it was either make him a jerk or make him undead xD I think him being undead would've caused Emma more trauma in the end. You liked the screwdriver, eh? I actually had to research the best way to hotwire or hijack a motorcycle for that, seeing as I have no experience with it at all but I'm happy that it paid off :) Really?! Thank you! I worry about whether I need more dialogue or more description so I'm happy that you like it :D But I always look forward to your reviews so thank you! Hope this chapter was also to your liking!

** HeavenSentLuvee** - I just happy that I am actually getting reviews :) but I'm glad you think so! So you like Emma? Whooo :D I'm always happy when people like my characters, so thank you! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

** PrettyInPolkaDot** - I'm happy that you like the story so far! Thank you for reviewing :D

** BuryMyHeartLove** - I know! Roger is such a jerk :) Glad you liked the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one too!

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	5. Chapter O5: An Arrow to the Knee

Hello everybody :) I'm sorry that this chapter took awhile [and if you didn't think that, then please ignore my comment]. I got stuck right around the middle and even though I had Emma's general conversation planned a certain character was extremely hard to write for. It was ridiculous, actually. I was writing a mile a minute and then I just stopped and stared blankly at my screen for practically an hour. I rewrote this chapter about 5 times before I decided to post it and I'm not sure it's any better because of that. But I digress - you all don't need to know that, do you? Speaking of you guys, thank you SO MUCH for all your reviews! And thanks to those who favorited/alerted this story as well :)

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything besides Emma. Warning: there's a lot of cursing in this chapter - more than the usual dosage, I mean.**

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**Thursday Afternoon** -

Dale's Winnebago, as Emma had come to learn in the past hour, was a real piece of work. It was obvious that the vehicle had been repaired so many times that its insides were practically all refurbished truck parts. The radiator hose was just about made from what was once probably silver-colored duct tape. While Emma was extremely fond of the super sticky tape as well as its many convenient uses, it certainly was not the best choice for a car part. She groaned as her eyes landed on a worn intake manifold hose - it most definitely had sprung a leak. Emma made a mental note to check it later.

"Hey Dale, just how old is this thing?" The girl asked, pushing away from the innards of the R.V. She moved for the off-white, oil-stained rag resting on the back of the lawn chair, snatching it up and brusquely wiping clean her hands with it. Forearm roughly wiping the near dripping layer of sweat from her forehead, Emma looked up to Dale [who was located atop the Winnebago] for his response.

"I'm not completely sure, actually." He answered frankly, peering down at her from the shade of his tan bucket hat. Briefly wishing she had her own hat - the heat was really killer this time of the year, you know - Emma grumbled incoherently at his reply.

"Guesstimate?" She had ducked into the shadow cast by the R.V., in an effort to avoid the searing heat and missed the old man's thinking face.

"Thirty years, give or take a few?" Dale sounded slightly unsure [more than slightly, in all honesty] but, as Emma saw it, it was something to go on. She smirked, grabbing her battered stainless steel water bottle - stolen, of course - from the ground and taking a good, long and extremely delicious swig of its contents.

"Alright. Good enough, I guess." She stretched, rubbing at clammy shoulders with her free hand. "Can you finish the rest, Jim? I'm gonna go play girl for awhile." Casually waving over her shoulder, Emma stalked off, vaguely wondering what she should do.

She was certain that she would never touch another piece of laundry again, so even venturing down to the lake was out of the picture. Which was annoying since she really wanted to wash off all the grime - a mixture of dirt, sweat and car sludge - that had created a sort of exoskeleton over her skin. But those women were like vultures for help and at any sign of weakness, they would insist on assistance. Amy and Andrea had gone scavenging early that morning and hadn't returned and that meant sneaking in some pleasant conversation was scratched off the list as well. Emma studied the clutter that was the very essence of camp [Shane had insisted on the close living quarters] and decided on talking a walk. Not useful or a good way to spend time, but she needed fresh air - or air that didn't have dozens of other people breathing it.

Checking that she had a good amount of water left in her bottle and that her ever-trusty crowbar was on her person, Emma disappeared into the shadow that the forest canopy offered. She also knew that strolling in the woods with zombies roaming about probably wasn't a good idea. And that, if Shane found out, she would be a boatload of trouble. Smirking at the thought of making his face go red with anger, Emma traversed deeper into the woodland, her footsteps careless and crunching. Her thoughts wandered back to Shane and something she had realized about his mentality not too long ago. If you weren't someone he desperately cared for, he was more than willing to sacrifice your sorry ass to save theirs. _But I guess that's how most people work_, Emma thought distantly, scanning the trees for any sign of the undead.

Thinking back to earlier that day, Emma considered herself extremely lucky to have escaped the clutches of the women here. Washing laundry all day, she didn't see how they could cope with it. She suspected that it had something to do with their raising - and their marriages. If someone you trust and love tells you to do something enough times, damn well you'll do it eventually. Nevertheless, Emma decided that she'd rather put up with Merle's relentless sexist, pig-headed - not to mention racist - comments [which turned out to just be hot air] all day than be subjugated like that.

Consumed by the numerous internal discussions taking place in her head, Emma slowly relaxed into a defenseless state. Days without the constant danger of having her head eaten off had caused her guard to drop. She no longer experienced a constant fear and while the food was strictly rationed, it was consistent and more than she had had in the past. Hell, Emma had been living out of a cardboard box and dumpster diving for her meals. Now she had a tent to sleep in, people to feed her and a way to bathe. She was as content as a cat getting its food-filled belly rubbed.

Emma stretched, took a sip of her water then scratched her stomach. No one was around, so who cared if she acted gross? She heard the sound before it happened - the twang of the release and the whir of an arrow flying through the air. Quickly back stepping, Emma paled as the arrow planted itself into the wood of a tree adjacent to her. Eyes twitched with panic toward the direction that the projectile had been shot from, discovering a certain familiar face whose hands cradled a crossbow. Daryl fucking Dixon. Alarm melted into anger.

"What the fuck?! Why hell the did you shoot at me, you fucktard?!" Emma hissed, striding over to the younger Dixon brother. "Do I look like a fucking zombie to you?"

"You could pass fer one." Daryl growled back, walking passed Emma to retrieve his misfired arrow. "Definitely smell like one."

Feathers well passed ruffled, Emma jerked her body around to pursue the redneck. "Well if smell was the only thing to go on, you could pass as a walker too." A crease formed between her eyes, brows raised in aggravation. Blood settled in her face, causing already sunburned cheeks to resemble ripe tomatoes. "Hey! Don't just grunt at me, you hick!"

"Shut up, will ya?" Daryl's voice was a low, gravelly thing which sounded even rougher, harsher when he was irritated. The aggravation in his tone was the reason that Emma quieted down. It was also because, once Emma spotted the string of squirrels dangling from his shoulder, she grasped that he was the one hunting the squirrels she'd been gorging herself on for the past few days. Food trumped anger - in this case, at least. She couldn't really go filching food anymore, seeing as she was out in the middle of nowhere and the shop clerks would eat her if she even ventured into the city. Thus, with the thought of food [or at least food that wasn't of questionable taste] hanging above her head, Emma urged her mouth shut and her anger away.

Giving the man a quick once over and realizing that he wasn't going to be leaving the woods anytime soon, Emma grumbled. _So much for a relaxing walk_, She thought, about to head back toward camp. One thing was certain, she didn't want to be around Daryl Dixon anymore. Noticing that the man was walking off in the opposite direction, Emma began drifting back towards home base.

"See ya later, Dixon." Emma called over her shoulder, deciding to at least attempt being polite. As she saw things, if this group were to split up, she would want Daryl - just for his hunting ability, of course. So ass-kissing, no matter how much it sucked and how minor it was, was a inevitability.

Emma took her time wandering back to camp. She began comparing what Roger was before the end of the world and the twisted, self-absorbed person he had become. Emma thought back to conversation that she had with someone who's name she couldn't quite place. It had been a discussion about how people changed when put under pressure - how people reveal their true selves when shit happened. That when things got tough, people would murder, steal and sacrifice the ones they love for their own survival. Others lost their independence and relied on the other, stronger people in their lives. Some experienced a psychosis-like state and detached themselves from the cruel reality of things. People changed when things went to shit and their comfort zones were removed.

A humorless chuckle bubbled up from Emma's throat, upon her realization of what exactly had happened to her when 'Judgment Day' occurred. Instead of losing her humanity or sanity, she had lost her pride. Playing nice and kissing ass had never even crossed Emma's mind until her survival depended on her relationships with other people. She had to smile and conform to Shane's rules so she wasn't put on the chopping block. She had forced herself to be relatively polite to Daryl and getting on Lori's bad side was unthinkable - the woman would sic her loverboy on you. Any independent thought that the men of the camp hadn't come up with was looked down upon.

A frown contorted Emma's features as she thought things over, scrutinizing every detail. The woman she had become was a useless, reliant thing. And that truth disgusted her.

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Was Daryl in character?! He was the character that I had trouble writing - sure, he cusses a lot and has anger issues but he's a very complex character. I have issues with writing...unpredictable characters.

** LadiiBabiiBossLoyalty990** - Oh no! Don't die! Here, have an update :) I'm ecstatic that you like my story that much though! I always enjoy your input and look forward to your reviews whenever I update. Glad to hear you like Emma - she's a very easy character to write but that's probably just because I have her more fleshed out in my head than a lot of other characters I've created. On to the sexism! Yes, problems will certainly occur with it but I'm not saying what exactly just yet - don't want any spoilers! I don't want her to handle it like Andrea did, though. Being so extremely insistent on independence that it makes her act...idiotically sometimes. Thanks for reviewing again! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well :D

** PrettyinPolkaDot** - Really? :D Well I hope you continue to enjoy it as the story progresses and the plot develops even further. Yes, Shane was certainly a jerk throughout the series - no doubt about that - but when I watched the show I initially felt a bit of compassion for him. Watching him struggle with himself but then the second season happened and I wished he was dead. Haha ^^''' Hope you enjoyed this update just as much as the last! Thanks for the review :)

** BuryMyHeartLove** - Haha :) In fact, it's really fun to write Emma's nervous scenes - a lot of her scenes are fun to write, actually. Probably because there's a curse word in almost every single sentence that comes out of her potty-mouth. Much thanks for your support!

** SkittlezDaBaddes** - Whoo! Well I'm glad that you decided to review - when readers do decide to review, it helps me crank out the chapters faster and it helps me to improve with my writing :) Glad you like the story and I hope you liked this chapter too. Thanks!

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	6. Chapter O6: Dog Days of Summer

Whoo! Hello you guys :) I'm back! And I've finished moving, started a new school and gotten sick! Isn't that grand? Remember to note the sarcasm. Anyways, sorry for the grumpiness, I am really, truly stressed out but I wanted to make sure and continue to write this story ASAP. Why? Because I love you guys! Especially those of you that reviewed the previous chapter and the author's note but I love the ones that favorited and alerted too :D

Now, I think I'm a little rusty but please tell me your thoughts on the story :) Critiques are always welcome too.

**Disclaimer: Haven't I disclaimed enough already?!**

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The dog days were asserting their authority over summer that afternoon. The cicada songs overlapped, lulling the forest into a particular stillness. Dark green leaves, a distinguishing feature of late summer, rustled occasionally and woke Emma from her slight stupor. Muscles would tense at the simplest of sounds, both a waste of energy and the source of aching joints. Sweat fell like a bulldog's dribble from Emma's brow. The shade that the forest canopy offered did nothing to cool the young woman, nor did the ever so slight breeze that shook the leaves around her. Emma had a sneaking suspicion that she should have arrived back at the camp by now, but refused to acknowledge the niggling feeling. She was certain that she could find her way back to the quarry.

Eventually, at least.

The minor...er - setback allowed Emma some time to think. Not that she didn't have plenty of mind-numbing tasks that gave her time to think back at camp, but thinking about personal matters alone was always better in her opinion. It kept them from discovering her weaknesses. Her worries. Her anger.

Roger was the first thing that slithered into her mind. His betrayal still felt fresh to her, like a bad burn from the oven that just wouldn't be soothed by ice or water. No, this burn was festering. Getting worse by the day, by the hour, by the minute. Emma knew she was helpless to make a move against the man - she wasn't even sure he was still alive. Scratch that - she knew very damn well that the son of a bitch was wasting space. The truck had over a year's worth of supplies and a good stash of gas-filled jerry cans. Unless Roger had done something incredibly stupid, he was still alive.

That thought made Emma's skin crawl. It also made her strangely relieved - but Emma mentally insisted that it was simply because there was a possibly of killing him herself. She denied that any concern, any love for that excuse for a man still existed. She knew it did, though. It was nearly impossible for a human being to go from completely trusting a person to wishing for their death in only a week. In the beginning, after she had saved herself from the horde of flesh-eating, rotting once-people that had been wanting to eat her face and the anger begun to ebb away of course, Emma had attempted to rationalize his actions. She had known that he had changed - acknowledging such a fact was a different matter, however. The early rationalizations consisted of impossibly lame excuses - like he had believed that she had already gotten in the truck or that he had accidentally slammed on the gas and the brakes were out.

It made her laugh now, a dry, humorless and bitter sound. A tired one. He was very much aware of the sin he committed - Emma had seen it in his face. She had witnessed it and still she had tried to make a proven criminal into an innocent man.

"Ah, fuck. Stop thinking so much!" Emma growled, scolding herself. A grubby hand ran through greasy black locks, fingers tearing at the roots and oil-encrusted nails raking down her scalp. She shouldn't have gotten attached to her street-life savoir in the first place. It was against the rules Emma had set for herself. An unsteady breath escaped her chest - a flimsy effort to calm herself, but an effort nonetheless. _No use in thinking about it now_, she thought, _just focus on living through this damned apocalypse, Emma._ It was comforting to hear herself reinforcing her own ideals and it made her think about the real, bigger picture. One man had stabbed her in the back and sure, it hurt like fucking hell, but was she going to screw herself over because of that? Hell no. She was going to get off her ass and survive.

Just like she always had.

A particularly odd sound - one which hadn't graced her ears in a long while - drew Emma from the confines of her mind. It was a gurgle - the sound a body makes when life has fled and the its contents are being flushed, when breath no longer filled bright red lungs and they collapsed on themselves. It was the sound a almost-dead man made - and the sound that the decaying once-humans replayed like a broken record. Mocking the living and the dead simultaneously, what a feat those zombies were able to accomplish.

Alarms went off in Emma's head, sharp, reverberating noises that were reminiscent of an annoying alarm clock. She reached for her blood spackled crowbar, clenching it with a grip that challenged death. The burbling belonged to the battered half of a walker, pitifully hauling itself along by hole-ridden arms in search of a meal that would leave it unsatisfied. It was once a woman, Emma suspected, going off of the walkers many lengths of hair - some of which was still in the tidy bun that it was before death. It crawled faster once it noticed the breathing, fleshy body of Emma but only went a smidgen faster than its snail-like pace.

_I shouldn't be hesitating_, Emma told herself, _its __**dead**__ - no longer a human being, Emma_. And if it was a normal, upright walker, she wouldn't be. But the woman inching along the ground before her was pitiable, a weak thing. It wasn't an immediate danger to her being and therefore Emma couldn't bring herself to kill it. The thing ogled at Emma with a hope of salvation from an unbounded hunger and glared at her an insatiable appetite. Its mouth gaped, missing the odd tooth and bits of tongue, and its hands were outstretched towards Emma. And Emma found herself simply staring, mesmerized by the crawling half-person. Stupid, yes, she realized this. She briefly wondered if they felt pain. If they thought. If they wished for an escape from the hunger. No, of course not.

_Hurry up and kill the damn thing. Now is no time for questions of morality,_ Emma asserted, forcing herself away from any compassion towards the creatures. Adjusting her grip on the bottom end of her crowbar, Emma slammed the hooked head of the bar into the walker's skull. The zombie went limp. Emma blinked, a moment of absolute indifference washing over her. Then it was gone and she continued on her arduous trek back to camp. She occupied restless hands with cleaning her weapon, bits of brain and slivers of skull trailing behind her as she wiped.

Of course, she ultimately made her way back to camp but by the time she had, it was dark outside. Emma hoped that no one had noticed her absence - she also hoped that they cared enough _to_ notice that she had been gone. They had, however not in the way she had secretly hoped.

Shane was the first one to spot the girl, or at least the first to act, much to Emma's dismay. The older man strode over, angry intention in his step. He tried to play down how infuriated he was with her 'waste of time' but his hissing voice was clearly meant to frighten the girl into submission.

"- You could have been helping the others with laundry, scavenging or at least try and make an attempt at being _useful_ around here!" The deputy scolded her, making an extra effort to keep his voice low. To Emma though, it was a lousy, wasted effort.

"What are you going to do about it, Shane? Hmm?" Emma growled. She was tired - she'd just spent the last few hours hiking back to the quarry. She'd killed a walker and what was Shane doing all day? Probably playing with Carl or with Lori for that matter. Being tired and yelled at by a man who seemed to just relish any hypocrisy equated to a very, very pissed off Emma. "Why don't you _make use of yourself_ and go do your own laundry instead of forcing the women to do it for you."

The rest of the group [excluding the Dixon brothers, of course] kept a safe distance away from the arguing adults, but watched the fight nonetheless. Lori was crawling out of her tent, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she finished tucking Carl in for the night. Dale was managing to keep his distance - not yet pursuing his desire to intervene and pacify. Glen was well...twitching nervously on the outskirts of the group, wondering if this fight would cause their small group to go to wrack and ruin. No one dared interrupt.

It was a primitive, barbaric showdown between the two. Sizing each other up, waiting for the other one to make the first move. A silent exchange. A hostile one. Emma was the first to step away, breaking the staring contest.

"There was a walker in the forest. Seems like they're starting to run out of food in the city." She stated, brushing passed the man. Emma had managed to stifle the wells of anger swelling, whirling inside her. She refused to regret anything and if she had stayed, battled it out, she would have regretted it later. Definitely when she was out cold on her ass when Shane predictably forced her out of the group. So she bowed her head over this matter - it was ultimately a petty argument so her pride would not be devastated. Emma was too tired to fight, anyway. Every emotion she had decided to push off till later had certainly come later - later being today and she felt exhausted.

"Goodnight everybody." Emma called, knocking the tension down a notch. The others still hadn't moved a muscle when she climbed into her tent. They probably still hadn't budged as she unhooked her bra and lazily tucked herself into the warmth of her sleeping bag.

_Let them stand there_, Emma thought as she slowly drifted off to sleep, the edges of her mind already beginning to blur_, It'll be them that complain about fatigue in the morning_.

It was the beginning of a line, tonight was. The line Emma set between her and them. Sure, she would occasionally let them stamp their big feet on the boundary but she would never let them close. If push came to shove, she would be ready to up and leave the group. And Emma made sure to remind herself of that fact.

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Thanks for reading you guys! Thank you to those that reviewed:** LadiiBabiiBossLoyalty990** [especially since you took the time to review, despite your busy writing schedule] and to** kschu02** for reviewing for the first time! I loved your input!

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